


Deck the Halls and Dwarves and Quarries

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Bottom Thorin, Dwarf Culture & Customs, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe, Oral Sex, Prompt Fill, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: <i>Mistletoe! But it’s only a tradition with Hobbits OR Dwarves, so one has to explain to the other.</i><br/>Chapters: first fluff, second smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silver Leaves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alkjira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/gifts), [thejerseydevile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejerseydevile/gifts).



> I never get fics done in time for the deadlines I set for them. This particular Christmas fic was started last year, set aside because I'd missed Christmas, and then reopened this December... and now it's after the 25th. Bah! (Humbug!)
> 
> This fic was inspired by art ~~\- that I cannot find again -~~ of the Dwarves wearing decorations in their hair instead of in trees. ~~If you know which art I'm talking about, do let me know so I can link to it =)~~  
>  Thanks to heartshapedkey I found the [ART](http://wilmuck.tumblr.com/post/70281152320/hobbit-advent-17-decorations-what-ifffffff-the) made by [wilmuck](http://wilmuck.tumblr.com).
> 
>  
> 
> Also: alkjira has a similar story out - despite the fact that neither of us knew what the other was writing. I'd say that I was frightened by this brain twinnery, but it's fantastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art! (posted with permission)

It seemed to Bilbo that the Dwarves’ celebration of the winter solstice was strangely similar to a Hobbit birthday party. There was an abundance of food and decorations, and there were presents for everyone – though, admittedly, only the Hobbit celebrating their birthday gave the gifts. With Dwarves, everyone presented gifts to the people they cared about.

 

A custom that seemed unique to Dwarves, however, was the fact that not only did they festoon the halls and hallways, they also ornamented themselves.

 

It managed to be simultaneously odd and enchanting. Everywhere Bilbo went he heard Dwarves gently chiming as they walked with bells, ribbons threaded through chain, beads, and baubles. What were usually well-kept hair- and beard-styles kept in place with serviceable clasps were now works of art. Bilbo would swear that he’d caught sight of a Dwarf with _lit candles_ in their hair.

 

Of the Company members he had seen so far, his favourite was Ori. His, er, decorations were awfully simple, and all the more lovely for it. Not only were his usual lavender ribbons in place, he’d also included light green teardrops (peridots, he’d called them) suspended from the ends of his braids.

 

Nori and Dori wore similar colours to their brother, though in more complicated and chunkier arrangements, respectively. Nori’s hairstyle was intricate enough as it was; following the line of purple gemstone-topped pins within it made Bilbo dizzy. Dori on the other hand had a single headband, almost a crown, which dripped silver and emeralds.

 

Dwalin he’d seen yesterday; he’d chosen not to bother with disrupting his loose hair. Instead he’d changed the cuffs in his ears to jewelled studs and the knuckledusters he now wore were tastefully (Dwarvish-tastefully, that was) covered with multicoloured stones. Balin had joined them both during dinner, and unlike his brother had kept to a single colour. His beard was now home to numerous garnets; their size decreasing as they approached the end of his beard.

 

Because he refused to rid himself of his hat, Bofur had coils of wire that winded down the flaps and seamlessly into his two braids – thus keeping the hat firmly attached to his head. A similar pattern echoed along his moustache. Bombur had hung glass-walled brass boxes from his beard, which he could either fill with snacks or use as tiny lanterns.

 

Bifur had a sprig of baby’s breath made of white quartz and twisted copper that looked almost alive – and was therefore Bilbo’s second-favourite.

 

He’d just been imagining how the rest of his friends looked when he was called to the Treasury. Apparently his opinion was needed when it came to the budget of the upcoming feast, and he was required to sit in on a meeting of shinily embellished Dwarves (not least of all being Glóin himself, whose adornments were best described by the word ‘gold’).

 

From the grumblings of another Dwarf at the table, Bilbo gleaned that he was ‘very lucky’ to see the Dwarves all ornamented for the solstice. Considering that it was incredibly rare for Dwarves to venture from their mountain homes come wintertime, Bilbo could accede that it was a sight few were privy to – but whether it was an ‘honour’ was surely up for debate.

 

The disgruntled Dwarf (bedecked in swirling silver) subsided after a lecture from Óin, who wore his ruby-studded ear horn on a braided length of chain. By the end of it Bilbo was quite sure he had a horrible blush across his face. ‘Hero Hobbit of Erebor’ indeed!

 

“Here, Bilbo,” Glóin said, passing him a heavy roll of parchment as the meeting ended. “You’ll be going to see our King, am I right?”

 

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he lied, pretending that he wasn’t dying with curiosity to know how the whole royal family looked – whether they had a similar theme or were starkly different –, pretending that he wasn’t dying to know how _Thorin_ looked. “But I can make a detour, it’s not a problem.”

 

He ignored the knowing look this earned. So what if his painful pining was obvious to everyone but the object of his affections? It didn’t matter. Not one whit.

 

He’d already come to terms with only being given friendship – honestly, it was more than he deserved. Thorin was too achingly lovely for someone like Bilbo… besides which, a hobbit had no business dallying with a King. Such notions were the stuff of fantasy.

 

(And all his fantasies were kept carefully in the privacy of his mind, thank you.)

 

Still, it didn’t help his poor heart any when he finally caught sight of Thorin in all his resplendent glory.

 

 

 

The beads the King wore on thin mithril chains were not quite as dark a shade of blue that Thorin usually favoured. They were… they were as light as his eyes, and swayed gently as he moved. Bilbo was aware that he was staring but was unable to look away even when the Dwarf turned to face him.

 

On the left side of Thorin’s face hung two mithril pendants shaped like starbursts.

 

Ignoring the urge to reach out and touch them, Bilbo returned Thorin’s smile and approached him, holding out the scroll he’d been asked to deliver.

 

“Well met, burglar.”

 

Sheer willpower kept the blush from his face. “Yes, well, Glóin asked that I pass you this is all.”

 

Thorin briefly skimmed whatever report had been written, then made a face. “I’m glad I was spared that particular gathering, even if you were not.” He met Bilbo’s eyes. “Thank you for taking the trouble to –”

 

Bilbo frowned when the King broke off, gazing up at – Bilbo followed his gaze – at a plant. Or a metal imitation of a plant – dragonfly-wing leaves made of enamelled silver, white moonstone berries… it was unfamiliar to him, although he had seen it amongst the garlands strung along the halls of Erebor.

 

“Well,” he heard Thorin mutter, “why not?”

 

Bilbo definitely would have questioned this but for the heart stopping fact that Thorin’s free hand was now gently cradling his cheek. He could feel the calluses borne of smithing and battle, and the warmth of Thorin’s palm even over the blush he could not control. He swallowed heavily and rallied, though, and opened his mouth just in time for Thorin to lean down and kiss him.

 

Caught entirely by surprise – because what, what was, _why_ – Bilbo tensed. He was entirely unable to appreciate the taste of Thorin’s warm breath, or the softness of his thin lips, or even the steady back-and-forth strokes of his thumb.

 

Oh, alright, he appreciated it a little.

 

He was still blushing when Thorin pulled away, opening his eyes in time to catch the affectionate expression directed at him. Bilbo really didn’t know what to think (with whatever was left of his fried faculties), much less what to say, and so remained silent and still as he stared up at the Dwarf that had time and again turned his life upside down.

 

“My dear Hobbit,” Thorin said, eyes crinkling in amusement, “going by your expression, I’d have to assume you didn’t anticipate being kissed.”

 

“I didn’t!” Bilbo replied, having found his voice (and finding it louder than expected). The thumb against his cheek stopped in its motion and Bilbo dropped his gaze and his voice, colouring even more. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t pleasing.”

 

Thorin chuckled, catching the corner of Bilbo’s mouth with the fleshy pad of his thumb. “That is encouraging to hear.”

 

Bilbo’s already racing heart seemed to quicken its beat. There was a promise in Thorin’s eyes and Bilbo tipped his face upwards, expecting to be bestowed another kiss. Alas –

 

“Thorin, ‘ _Amad_ says that your delaying isn’t – oh!”

 

“Hello, Bilbo. Didn’t see you there.”

 

The hand cupping his face dropped to rest on his shoulder as he and Thorin turned to face Fíli and Kíli. If Bilbo was entirely truthful, he would have admitted to being irked by the interruption. Admitted to or not, his annoyance bled away in the face of the brothers’ twin expressions of glee, and was replaced with a keen sense of foreboding.

 

(He was still able to appreciate their decorations: tiny gem beads strung on thin chains like Thorin’s – Fíli in gold-and-green, Kíli in silver-and-red. It was very fitting. Mithril and gold and silver, for the King, the Heir, and the Prince.)

 

Luckily, Thorin seemed an expert in foreseeing his sister-sons’ antics. “I’d hoped that Dís would forget.”

 

Fíli snorted. “It would take a lot for ‘ _Amad_ to forget the need for your presence, considering that the guild heads are not a patient bunch.”

 

“I know this very well.” Thorin sighed, and squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder. “I will see you at the feast.” He barely waited for Bilbo’s stammered reply before moving to reach for the crown he’d discarded amongst his paperwork.

 

Then, with a swish of glittery decorated hair, Thorin was gone. Leaving Bilbo alone with the two princes of Erebor – and as much as he did love them, perhaps he should start planning his own exit strategy.

 

“So,” Kíli said, grinning. “You look to have a charmingly surprised air about you, Bilbo.”

 

His mouth twisted (although a tiny sliver of his smile remained) as he watched the brothers’ approach. “Why is it that everyone assumes I should’ve anticipated that Thorin would kiss me?”

 

“Oh, so our Uncle _did_ kiss you.” Kíli looked extremely pleased by this news, perhaps more than was proper. “That is good to hear.”

 

“As for your question, Bilbo: of course it should’ve been expected. It’s tradition.”

 

That… was not an answer he’d even considered – nor was it one that he really wanted. “What do you mean tradition?”

 

“Well surely you’ve noticed the mistletoe.” Now by his side, Kíli pointed upwards, at the plant he’d noticed earlier. So it was called mistletoe. “Don’t Hobbits have the same practice?”

 

“Given how different our cultures are, I’m going to say no.” Bilbo frowned. “And what practice are you talking about?”

 

“Kissing under mistletoe, of course,” Fíli said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Speaking of…” He and Kíli leaned down as one, pressing smacking kisses on both of his cheeks. Then, after straightening, they kissed each other over his head.

 

Getting over his surprise, Bilbo went over what he’d been told. Mistletoe was a part of Dwarvish tradition during the winter solstice, and those who stood underneath hung sprigs of it were obliged to kiss. Alright. So that meant – that meant – oh.

 

Oh, no.

 

He’d made an incredibly huge mistake.

 

* * *

 

The guild meeting went more smoothly than Thorin had anticipated; though, to be fair, his usual expectation for such meetings was carnage. Axes flying through the air, oaths sworn against houses, that kind of carry on. All that had happened was a single death threat, and so Thorin considered the meeting an excellent one.

 

This gratefulness was very much a shadow of the joy he’d been feeling for some hours.

 

It was hard to lose patience during the meeting (despite some very _trying_ Dwarves trying very hard to make that happen) because the memory of Bilbo’s lips and the soft surprise on his face was a better use of his attention. Thorin was rather pleased with the fortuitous position of the mistletoe – though he had not put it up there – because he had not quite come up with a way to confess his feelings.

 

(If this was because he did not know how to and whether he _should_ even do this, it wasn’t anyone’s business.)

 

He was flattered that Bilbo had been affected by the kiss enough to want more, and though Thorin had had to leave for the meeting, he hoped to find him again. He hoped for a conversation with Bilbo – a discussion about the possibilities of their (shared?) future. He hoped for more kisses, hopefully with an absence of silly nephews.

 

“What’s put you in so fine a mood?”

 

Broken from his thoughts, Thorin glanced at his sister who walked beside him. Had he been smiling without noticing? “Neither of us is walking out of that room with any injuries,” he pointed out. “An especially good thing considering the season.”

 

“While I admit that you’re right, there is something else.” Dís’ eyes were narrowed, and the tiny bells in her hair made her jingle softly on every step. “I wonder if it has anything to do with your Hobbit.”

 

“It does.” Thorin savoured the look of surprise on her face, and gleefully heightened that surprise when he continued, “Perhaps I may properly make him _my_ Hobbit.”

 

Dís’ smile was small and genuine. “I hope you don’t mind me keeping my congratulations for a later, given your ‘fondness’ for talking about your feelings.” She thoughtfully tapped her lips with her forefinger. “Now that I think of it, Bilbo has a similar failing. It certainly explains how it has taken several years for the both of you to get this far.”

 

That was unfair. Some time had passed since the quest and war, no doubt, but it wasn’t as if these new developments could’ve been achieved then or even in Bilbo’s last visit to Erebor. Thorin had only realised the true extent of his feelings for his Hobbit – yes, most definitely _his_ Hobbit now – during the latter, much too late to do anything about it. Or that was the excuse he had and was going to stand by.

 

It was lucky that this time the few months Bilbo would be here included the winter celebrations of the Dwarves. If not, there’d not have been mistletoe and without it, the opportunity for kisses.

 

Dís elbowed him gently. “Will you be going to him now?”

 

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?” he asked, perhaps too brusque. They’d stopped in the common room of the royal suites, both done with their responsibilities for the day. Thorin thought that he should beat a retreat to find Bilbo before he was subject to a dressing down from his sister.

 

“No need to be aggressive, Thorin.” She raised her hand to her mouth, only half-hiding her laugh. “If you’d bothered to be observant, you’d see that we who are your family and friends do like this little Hobbit. Bilbo is clever and brave, and admired by more than those in your Company.”

 

That just sounded like he had competition for Bilbo’s affections. Or did he?

 

While it was true that Dwarves kissed under mistletoe, only those with romantic ties pressed their lips together (in most all cases). Thorin’s actions had admittedly been made under an assumption as it was possible that he’d misread Bilbo’s expression, but his burglar _had_ admitted to liking their kiss.

 

Hobbits didn’t consider kisses party favours, did they?

 

“I would seek Bilbo out even if the constrains of our relationship had not changed. I enjoy his company, and he mine.” If the latter hadn’t been true Bilbo would have made it abundantly clear by now. He always made his opinions as clear as crystal.

 

“Just make sure to _speak_ with him, Thorin. There should be no doubts or questions about this changed relationship.” Dís tugged on the braid by his ear, as she had done when they were Dwarflings.

 

He was unable to stop the fondness that warmed him, and smiled at her.

 

“And don’t _ruin_ things. I’ll not deal with your sulking afterwards.”

 

Thorin rolled his eyes, and in so doing saw the silver-and-moonstone above them. He hid his sigh and kissed Dís in the middle of her forehead, still fond of his sister despite her insistence on being irritating.

 

She returned his smile. “Go find your Hobbit.”

 

-

 

When Bilbo opened the door, an expression of what looked like surprise crossed his features before it was smoothed away with a smile.

 

Well, it had to be surprise; the only other viable option would’ve been alarm, but that was unlikely. Not after what had happened earlier in the day. Not when Thorin’s feelings were finally admitted and requited.

 

“Thorin.”

 

He bowed his head, a smile of his own tucked away in the corners of his mouth. “Bilbo.”

 

“I wasn’t expecting that you’d…” He cut himself off, stepping back to invite Thorin in. “I meant to talk to you.”

 

This made Thorin very pleased indeed, though his smile did not grow. He entered the study, noting that there were books stacked on one of the desks while another had maps and scrolls spilling from Bilbo’s leather bag. “What did you wish to speak of, my dear Hobbit?”

 

“Well…” He was leaning against the door, both hands tucked into his weskit pockets. “The decorations in your hair, your Dwarf custom. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

“Your people do not celebrate the winter months?”

 

“It’s a good time to spend with family. Playing in the snow and then going back inside to drink hot tea by the fire, then everyone sitting down for hearty meals.” Bilbo’s smile grew. His hazel eyes were warm. He was beautiful. “But no specific celebrations, no. Especially not like this.”

 

Peripherally Thorin could see the stars he wore, and fought the instinct to (needlessly) adjust them. “Winter starts after Durin’s Day, and while the sun dims and the plants wither, we make up for the lack by adorning ourselves and our halls. Those who claim that Dwarves cannot love anything but rock are wrong.” As Thorin said this, he made sure to hold Bilbo’s gaze. There was no way his intentions could be misconstrued.

 

Bilbo pushed off the door. Thorin’s anticipation fizzled away when Bilbo went to fiddle with his quill nibs instead of fiddling with – er, instead of going to him. Perhaps Thorin needed to be clearer in coaxing kisses from him.

 

“Did you mean to say anything else?” he asked hopefully. He’d like for Bilbo to properly acknowledge what had lain between them for so long – but if Bilbo needed prompting, he was happy to provide it.

 

“Yes.”

 

Thorin twisted his fingers together behind his back. It was the only way to stop himself from cupping Bilbo’s face and kissing him.

 

Bilbo cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Yes, I – what?”

 

“I was unaware that it was tradition. I didn’t intend to…” He sighed. “I made a fool of myself, I know, and it’s best that I continue packing. I’ll see to my provisions myself, not to worry.”

 

Thorin was sure that he’d missed a leap of logic. “Bilbo, what are you – your appreciation of our traditions is more than welcome, and I –” Wait. _Wait_. Provisions? Packing? “Where are you going?” His hands were now fists by his sides. “You can’t leave now.” Not when they…

 

Bilbo half turned away from Thorin, eyes downcast. “I don’t… It’s likely I’ve ruined our friendship, and it’d be best if I leave as soon as I can. It’ll be good for both of us.”

 

How had this conversation gone so wrongly? “You’ve – you’ve ruined our friendship? How?” Was this some roundabout Hobbit way of announcing that their friendship had been replaced with a romantic relationship?

 

Now Bilbo glared. Thorin thought this unfair. “Must you make me say it?”

 

Frustrated at the confusing turn of their conversation, Thorin strode forward, grasping Bilbo’s upper arms with as much gentleness as his current mood allowed. “Say _what_?”

 

“I was… I was carried away. Again, I can only apologise. I should have kept my urges more carefully. I shouldn’t have…” He trailed off, staring up at the ceiling with a dismayed expression.

 

Thorin looked up as well, and took a breath. Was _that_ what this was about?

 

Bilbo’s tone was urgent. “Thorin, I swear to you, I didn’t put that there. I know you don’t want to have anything to do with me in _that_ way, so there’s absolutely no obligation –”

 

“Be quiet,” Thorin said, and was satisfied when this order was obeyed. He pushed Bilbo a few steps backwards, until they were well away from the mistletoe and the things Bilbo had been trying to pack. “I swear to _you_ , Bilbo Baggins, that there was never any obligation. Mistletoe is a tradition, aye, and one that allowed me an opportunity. I took it.”

 

There was still dismay in Bilbo’s expression and it needed to be wiped away. So Thorin did all he could think to do.

 

“I love you,” he said, solemn. Then he kissed Bilbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut soon! I need to get it done, since I have to study this weekend *mutters*
> 
> Hope you've had a good December, and a good New Year!


	2. Moonstone Berries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to get some plot in, but this is basically all smut. Not that you guys are complaining, lbr. The tags say all.
> 
> **[[art link](http://wilmuck.tumblr.com/post/70281152320/hobbit-advent-17-decorations-what-ifffffff-the)]**
> 
> All errors are my own.

Despite the temptation of more kisses, it was mutually decided to have a long discussion about their feelings (equally intense and thankfully reciprocated), their immediate future (cancelling Bilbo’s current plans to return to the Shire), and long-term future (going over Bilbo’s plans to return to the Shire and then back to Erebor).

 

Still, with shared desire and a bed so very close, it wasn’t so surprising that Bilbo and Thorin returned to each other’s arms, ignorant and uncaring of any mistletoe overhead.

 

They did not leave a messy trail of clothes behind them. Both were fussy enough to wait for the privacy of Bilbo’s room, though only one of them quickly folded shirt and weskit and trousers after they’d been removed.

 

Bilbo was pleased to note that he’d regained the weight he’d lost on the journey West. Pleasingly rounded in all the expected places he was a properly sized Hobbit now, thanks to the lack of too-little rations and fighting evil things and running for his life.

 

He abandoned the scrutiny of his own body in favour of taking in Thorin’s. Before he’d caught only glimpses during times of partial nudity, but now he was treated to a wide expanse of brown skin, liberally dusted with darker hair and decorated with a few tattoos (the most interesting of which encircled one thick thigh. Bilbo would have to explore that one thoroughly). Bilbo wanted to put his hands over Thorin’s strong muscles, tracing the hills and valleys of his body, memorising the rises and depressions of his scars. Thorin’s feet were strange and small but the flush of his cock was very promising.

 

Bilbo’s gaze slowly rose, following that splotchy blush up Thorin’s body where it was not-quite hidden by his chest hair or beard. And then he met Thorin’s eyes, the same colour as his blue beads, carrying enough want to snatch away Bilbo’s breath.

 

Thorin’s expression of hunger was a mirror of his own. Bilbo had a moment to thank strange Dwarvish traditions – then they clashed together again, Thorin gathering Bilbo up into his arms, Bilbo rising to his toes to kiss Thorin.

 

They ended up on the bed. In no time at all Bilbo was on his back while Thorin swallowed down his cock. Bilbo’s thighs cradled Thorin’s head, and he reached down to put his hands in dark hair – mindful of the decorations – leverage while he thrust his hips up and down, cock sliding between Thorin’s lips and being traced by his wet tongue.

 

Thorin was almost frantic. Bilbo had never seen him like this. His hands slid and stroked over Bilbo’s skin as if he could not decide where to put them. He looked up every so often, meeting Bilbo’s gaze, but his eyes slipped closed whenever Bilbo shoved his cock in a little too hard. He moaned every time this happened, his mouth admirable almost-perfect, sloppy and slurping in his eagerness.

 

Bilbo whined briefly when Thorin pulled up, soothed when he dipped to mouth at his bollocks. His mithril starbursts and threads were cool against Bilbo’s skin, each point distinct and helping to ground him. As Thorin moved back up, his beard brushed against Bilbo’s spit-slick cock. Bilbo arched, reflexively tightening his grip.

 

He must have pulled too hard, because Thorin moan choked off and then he was pushing up onto hands and knees. Bilbo hurriedly untangled his fingers from Thorin’s hair.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I won’t again, just –” Bilbo made a frustrated noise and bunched the sheets in his hands when Thorin made no move to return to his ministrations. “Please, please, you felt so good.”

 

“I’ll feel even better.” He licked his lips. “I promise.”

 

Thorin’s voice was just this side of rasping, and Bilbo felt the tremendous urge to pin him down and fuck his mouth until he sounded hoarse and properly wrecked. Since Thorin apparently had other plans, this was something to keep for next time – and there _would_ be a next time, with no complaints from the King, he was sure.

 

“But now, I want – I need you to take me,” Thorin said, and Bilbo’s mouth fell open. His Dwarf made his way up the bed, idly dropping kisses onto Bilbo’s skin wherever he wished – the barely-there jut of his hip, the join of his ribs, the inside of his elbow. He cupped Bilbo’s jaw and kissed him thoroughly. “Take me,” Thorin said, gently turning Bilbo’s face and putting his mouth to one pointed ear. “Take me.”

 

Despite this desperately breathless demand, Thorin merely continued to kiss Bilbo – and while sucking on his tongue and nipping bites to his lips were quite pleasurable, there was a better pleasure that Bilbo craved. Thorin wasn’t even pressed flush to Bilbo’s body; no, instead he remained on knees and elbows, the heat of his body tantalisingly close but still _too far_.

 

Bilbo was not particularly strong, but pushing at Thorin’s shoulders had his Dwarf moving to lie on his back – Bilbo supposed this only worked because it was done willingly. After all why would Thorin protest the promise of being taken?

 

Still, Bilbo was not above teasing in turn. He half lay on Thorin, having thrown one leg over Thorin’s hairy thigh and his hand went straight to the prize between Thorin’s legs. Thorin groaned, arms coming up around Bilbo and hips jerking but Bilbo kept his touch feather light. He did not even encircle Thorin’s cock, he just ran his fingertips along its length, lazily perusing the sensitive place between his cock and bollocks, caressing the slit and spreading the sticky wetness there. It was when he licked off the taste from his fingers that Thorin’s impatience boiled over.

 

His voice was impossibly deep: “I need you. Want you inside of me.” He kissed Bilbo with aching passion, at the same time grasping Bilbo’s hips tightly to rub his thigh against Bilbo’s cock, to encourage Bilbo with the tantalising promise of what should happen next.

 

Bilbo was gasping for air by the time Thorin released him.

 

Under imperious direction he fetched the slick. Satisfaction filled him when Thorin’s words were snatched away as Bilbo’s finger sunk into the soft resistance of his body – satisfaction and sharp lust. Thorin’s legs were spread wide for him, fingers hooked behind his knees to hold them apart. The muscles in his stomach were taut as he kept his hips still. His tongue flicked over his lips.

 

“Another. N – Bilbo, _another_ –” He huffed loudly when Bilbo did not obey.

 

Bilbo rather thought that he had good enough reason to keep slow – not because he thought that Thorin must be handled carefully (though safety was never to be pushed aside in these things) but because of the distraction offered by the sight of teasing his finger around Thorin’s rim. Eventually he did consent to a second and a third and a fourth finger, the view only growing in prettiness.

 

He slowly raised his gaze; there was Thorin’s cock stiff and rosy, there were the curls between his legs and covering his chest, there were his broad shoulders with sweat beading along his collarbones, there were his arms and hands holding himself open for Bilbo’s pleasure. There was his mouth, with teeth marks on his reddened lower lip, dropping soft sighs and praises amongst his moaning. There was his sharp nose, his forbidding eyebrows gone slack with bliss, his eyelashes dark against his flushed cheeks.

 

“If you could only see,” Bilbo said, prompting Thorin’s attention, “how beautiful you are.”

 

Thorin let his feet rest against the mattress so he could push up onto his elbows. He needed two attempts before he could speak without his voice cracking. “Show me,” he said, challenge clear in his eyes.

 

Bilbo could only hope to rise to the occasion. Pun intended.

 

First he crawled up to kiss Thorin. All trace of chasteness was gone; desperate desire had taken over and Bilbo rubbed himself against Thorin’s belly when blunt nails dug into his back. Thorin’s mouth slid from Bilbo’s and moved down his neck, marking his progress with sucking kisses. Bilbo clutched Thorin’s shoulders, gasping and moaning with every nip of teeth.

 

Thorin shook. He forced a hand between them to fist Bilbo’s cock. “Don’t stop here,” he said, face pressed to the join of Bilbo’s neck and shoulder. “Not now, not now, I’m ready for you –”

 

“Are you?” His lips feathered over the mithril cuffs and the blue studs in Thorin’s ear. “Do you want me?”

 

Thorin gently squeezed his handful. “As much as you want me.”

 

Unable and unwilling to disprove this Bilbo bestowed a quick kiss on thin lips, before doing what they both wanted and finally, _finally_ settling between Thorin’s spread legs. Under the intense scrutiny of his Dwarf, with one hand on the interlocking-patterned tattoo and the other hand holding his cock steady, Bilbo pushed forward and in and deeper.

 

 _Oh_ , he thought. _Oh_ bless _me_.

 

Thorin was gorgeously lovely around him; snug and tight and hot. Bilbo stilled and let his head fall back and his eyes close so that he could properly appreciate these sensations alongside the taste of sweat on his upper lip and the sound of Thorin’s shaky breathing and the warmth of the rucked sheets beneath their bodies. He let his hands whisper over Thorin’s skin to settle on his hips.

 

He inhaled deeply.

 

Thorin tore Bilbo from this pleasure-filled serenity, impatiently jerking his hips and glaring. “Are you going to do nothing,” he asked, voice rough, “or are you going to take me?”

 

“I’m hardly doing nothing,” Bilbo replied. He licked his lips. “You should know that well enough.”

 

“Bilbo –”

 

“I’m so sorry; I thought you were enjoying yourself.” He moved his hands to rest on Thorin’s belly, feeling the muscles there twitch when he shifted to lean forward. “Or are you in a particular hurry? Perhaps you should have thought of that before you teased me earlier.”

 

“And you didn’t tease me?” Thorin was unimpressed. Goodness, how could anyone’s eyebrows be attractive?

 

Bilbo shifted again, rising a little on his knees and settling back, trying to cover the shudder of his breath by saying, “I meant before. When you waited for a plant made of metal and gems.” He tried to keep his tone light. “If that hadn’t happened we’d not even be here.”

 

The impatience and annoyance dropped immediately from Thorin’s face, and he half-rose so he could reach out and stroke Bilbo’s face. His starbursts glittered in the light. “If that hadn’t happened, I would’ve found a way. You would’ve found a way.”

 

He turned his face into Thorin’s hand, kissing his palm. But this was not enough so he reached to kiss Thorin properly, deeply, only to have the Dwarf groan and clutch at him.

 

Thorin nuzzled their noses together as he panted through his mouth. “Move,” he said, begged. “Move.”

 

Bilbo deigned to obey after he’d snatched another kiss. He fucked into Thorin’s body, into sweet heat, slowly as he could to drag out their shared pleasure. Thorin braced himself on his elbows, spine curved and head thrown back. The sheets were bunched up in his fists. Bilbo couldn’t look away.

 

“Are you enjoying yourself now?”

 

Thorin’s attempt to speak was abandoned in favour of hissing out a breath through clenched teeth. His knuckles were almost-white, his flush darkened.

 

Really, a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would have sufficed – perhaps a nod or shake of the head, but Thorin wasn’t in a proper position for the latter. He probably wasn’t all too coherent for the former; Bilbo wondered why he himself could still manage full sentences, punctuated with harsh breaths or no.

 

“You might want to try again, O’ King,” he said, stroking his hand along Thorin’s thigh.

 

“ _More_.”

 

Flattered, Bilbo decided that this was encouragement to grind in deeper and harder, instead of quickening the motion of his hips. It was a _beautiful_ feeling especially the occasional clench of Thorin around him and he watched Thorin’s face carefully whenever this happened; forehead creased, mouth open to let out profanity and pleasure, eyelids fluttering while he rocked down into Bilbo’s thrusts.

 

Bilbo wished he was limber – and tall – enough to lean down and swallow all of Thorin’s moans. Every one of them was an indicator that he was doing well in his quest to make Thorin spill, so he kept rolling his hips, kept his speed steady and his thrusts strong. And while all of this – the sights, sounds, smells, sensations, while all of this was heady and divine and capable of bringing them to completion, Bilbo realised that they needed, as Thorin had said, more.

 

“Turn ‘round,” he murmured.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Get on your knees,” Bilbo patted the corresponding joint, “and hands. Turn ‘round.”

 

Thorin’s expression was pure confusion. “What are you – no, nooo –” He tried to reach out for Bilbo, tried to keep him in place by locking his heels behind Bilbo’s back, but could not stop Bilbo from pulling out. “Bilbo, what’re you doing?”

 

“Can’t get you on your front if I’m still in you. Now, please, turn ‘round.” He fondly stroked Thorin’s cock as incentive, stretching his mouth around the head and sucking for a quick moment. He hummed. There was a taste he could become accustomed to.

 

It was still thick on his tongue when he swallowed, having settled back on his heels to watch Thorin do as bid.

 

Thorin braced himself on his elbows. His hair and decorations swept over one shoulder so the wide expanse of his shoulders was left uncovered; the muscles there and down his back looked strong, shifting as Thorin moved. Bilbo would need to trace the ridges of his spine later, following the line from the nape of Thorin’s neck to the base of his spine. Now he admired the backs of powerful thighs, attention stolen as Thorin’s cock bobbed, heavy between his legs. Bilbo put his hands on Thorin’s arsecheeks and spread them apart.

 

The view was enchanting and Bilbo would put his mouth there but for the oil – another thing to keep for future couplings. He licked his lips.

 

On his knees Bilbo shuffled forwards, lined himself up with Thorin’s entrance and absolutely did not anticipate that Thorin would push back and take all of his cock easy as you please. He whimpered loudly, scrabbling to grip Thorin’s hips as his heartbeat thundered in his ears (and was echoed in his cock).

 

Thorin met this with a chuckle. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

 

When Bilbo pulled back and shoved back in, it was much for stealing Thorin’s words as it was for his own benefit. As for keeping up a brutal pace, that was admittedly selfish and selfless.

 

With this new position Thorin played a more active role, pushing back into Bilbo’s thrusts with the most magnificent of noises that only spurred Bilbo on. Beads of sweat slid down Bilbo’s back but he hardly noticed. His focus was on the decadence of what he and Thorin were doing, the slick pleasure as they moved together, the promise of what would come in future.

 

Bilbo had one hand on Thorin’s hip, the other on his arse, tightly enough to leave bruises. The prospect prompted brief worry, but excitement soon took over. He would visibly mark Thorin, and though others would not be able to see it, Thorin would be reminded every time he sat down and felt them or when he bathed and changed, and that was – _well_. It only made Bilbo grip harder.

 

Thorin shifted. By the way his arm flexed, he’d decided to touch himself and Bilbo cried out at the sudden tightness around his cock. He pushed down so Thorin’s legs slid further apart, snapping his hips faster and faster, forward and back.

 

“ _Mmm_ like that, yes.” Thorin’s voice rose above all the other sounds in the bedroom, not quite loud but all-encompassing, filling Bilbo’s consciousness until nothing existed but the both of them. “More, Bilbo,” he pleaded. “More.”

 

Who was Bilbo to deny such pretty words from a King?

 

He sped up even more, using all the strength he had to fulfil Thorin’s wishes, concentrating on this and nothing else. Thorin started up a litany of “More, faster, harder, Bilbo, Bilbo, Bilbo”, growing louder, then more breathless, and then finally a mess of incoherent moaning. Bilbo’s thighs burned – but he was close, they were both close.

 

And he stretched up to snag a braid with mithril weaved through it and one star hanging from the end of it. He pulled.

 

Thorin was undone.

 

There was so much relief in Thorin’s voice, even with his face half-hidden in the pillow. He still rubbed his cock, frantic, fluttering around Bilbo’s cock as he spilled over his own fingers. They would have to do this again, or at least Bilbo would have to watch Thorin, if only to see his expression slacken and watch him messy himself.

 

Thorin’s elbows wobbled and then gave out, no longer able to hold him up, making his spine arch and _oh_ , _oh_! that was an angle that had Bilbo shaking. He could not thrust so much as jerk his hips without control, pulsing within Thorin’s body, his eyes tightly shut as he heaped praises on his Dwarf.

 

By the time he regained his breath Thorin was already lazy and languid, only making a soft sound when Bilbo pulled out of him. Together they kicked the sheets to the foot of the bed, curling together for warmth and so they could touch and kiss each other to their hearts’ content.

 

Bilbo smiled when Thorin pressed their foreheads together. He stroked his fingers over Thorin’s jaw, and traced the shape of the decorations by his ear.

 

He decided that mithril stars were now his favourite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Have a Happy New Year =D


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